And Those Such Things
by themetaphornextdoor
Summary: Dean and Castiel have a long overdue talk about Hell.  Set mid-season 4. Dean/Cas pre-slash, PG-13, Angst. 2,215 words.


Pairing: Gen (Dean/Castiel Pre-Slash)

Genre: Angst

Rating: PG-13 / T

Word Count: 2,215

Warnings: None

Spoilers: Season 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters.

Summary: Dean and Castiel have a long overdue talk about Hell. (Set mid-season 4)

Author Notes: The hand-print trope has been done to death, I know, but I couldn't resist having a go at writing Season 4 Cas. It was hard, I hope it comes through okay. (More notes at end)

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><p>There were parts of Dean that never quite fit back together after the pit. Cracks that ached and pulsed like rivers of fire and simultaneously chilled him to the bone. He felt it late at night, when sleep was but a hair away and he teetered on the edge of consciousness. As he felt the pull of sleep at his mind, that last moment before falling under, he was certain he would break apart under the sheer weight of the ache.<p>

In daylight, it played around the edges of his awareness. Not quite there, but not completely absent either. In his mind, he saw them like fault lines running down his body, a spider web of not-quite-right.

He didn't realize at first. He assumed the way his veins filled with static around Castiel was simply the angel's energy, his otherworldly power. The shivers brushing his spine like fingers every time Castiel appeared was surely just the beat of invisible wings brushing air across his body.

It took a while to connect the dots. It wasn't angels in general. With Anna, Uriel… there was nothing. At least nothing more than the brief adrenaline rush at finding someone standing where you least expected them.

It was only Castiel.

With wind swept hair and a suit far too big, it was hard to see him as the heavenly warrior he was, let alone imagine the immense power contained in that unassuming form. Dean could never forget, though. While others might see a slim man who hadn't combed his hair in weeks, Dean could virtually_feel_ him.

He could almost see in his mind's eye the network of fine lines running through his body flash like lightning whenever Castiel approached. It wasn't exactly painful, mostly odd. The ache was always there, the fire, the ice. But when the angel drew near, Dean was somehow… calmer.

Which unnerved him to no end.

It made sense, though. It was Castiel's hand-print burned onto his shoulder after all. His grace that wrapped itself around him; his wings that pulled him from Hell.

He had no idea just how right he was. And also how ignorant.

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><p>They'd both left the conversation far too long. Dean, typically, had been afraid to broach the topic, and Castiel had assumed Dean wasn't willing to discuss it. When they found themselves alone without any current pressing crises, Dean finally swallowed his reluctance and asked. For all he wanted to avoid it, to shove it all back down in a box where it belonged – he couldn't.<p>

"So, I guess you, ah, you saw me, huh?" he paused. "You know… In Hell."

"Yes, Dean."

"Uh-huh." Dean chewed on his lip and looked away, focusing on the storm clouds hanging heavy over the horizon. Anywhere but the angel standing before him.

Thankfully, Castiel moved beside him to rest against the hood of the Impala. This time, he kept an appropriate distance, perhaps a foot between them, and rested his palms against the cool metal.

Dean could just see his profile out of the corner of his eye. The angel's gaze also settled on the horizon, and Dean was grateful for the lack of eye contact. Maybe Castiel understood something of denial. Small mercies.

"So why?" he continued when Castiel remained silent. "You saw what I did. _Who__I__was_ down there. How does that make me the righteous one or whatever you called me?"

Castiel seemed to draw breath, about to speak, but stopped. Dean refused to look at him, afraid of what he might see in the angel's eyes. "How the hell is that worth saving?"

"We had orders, Dean. _You_ were to be saved."

"Yeah, well. Maybe you should tell your boss he screwed up."

"I don't know exactly why. Not yet. But this is your fate, your destiny. It's not my place to question the Lord's motives." Castiel said, inscrutable as always.

Dean huffed. He'd roll his eyes if he weren't afraid it might dislodge the tears that were threatening. The great Dean Winchester, now with added oestrogen, he thought wryly. Instead, he scuffed his boot in the dirt and crossed his arms, looking up at the sky but not really seeing it. "You know how I feel about fate Cas, it's bull. A cop out. I believe things when I see them, okay? That's just how it works."

"Maybe you need to believe them first."

Dean snorted.

Castiel turned to face him finally and this time Dean couldn't help but meet his eyes. "It's not…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Not my fault, right? So everyone keeps saying. Doesn't make it true." Dean shook his head and turned away again. In his peripheral vision he could see Castiel's fingers twitch, like he wanted to reach out but couldn't make up his mind. It was the closest to fidgeting he'd ever seen from the normally guarded angel.

"If it makes any difference, I don't blame you. I may not know why, but I know you. That's _my _destiny, Dean."

Dean turned to look at him, caught off guard. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. What the hell do you say to something like that? Castiel was still staring at him in his piercing way, looking far too fascinated with whatever he saw in Dean's eyes. Dean swallowed and looked away, back at the horizon again. Neutral ground.

After a few moments, Castiel pushed away from the car and stood before him. Dean sucked in a breath at the unexpected movement, but held his ground despite the angel's proximity. Once again too close for comfort.

Sometimes he wondered if it was deliberate. Designed to be intimidating, to instil respect in the lowly humans they faced. Despite his posturing, Dean found it hard not to flinch when faced with the sheer depth of that gaze at such a close distance.

"I've misled you, Dean."

Dean stood up straighter, as a chill snaked it's way down his spine. "What?"

"I raised you from perdition. But some of you – parts of you – were damaged." Castiel dropped his eyes briefly before returning them to Dean. He sighed so softly it was barely noticeable, but it was unmistakable from just five inches away. Dean's stomach dropped. "Dean, I told you I…"

"_What?_**"** he repeated, and Dean cringed. He'd been aiming for outrage, but instead it emerged a frightened squeak. _What __had __Castiel __done?_

Castiel pressed his lips together, annoyed at the interruption. He raised a hand to Dean's shoulder and this time he did flinch. But Castiel's voice was soft when he continued.

"Dean. Be assured there is nothing of you left in Hell. You are here. I raised all of you. Whole." He paused. "But… there was damage."

"Yeah. Damage. I got that bit, Columbo. What the hell are you getting at?"

"You needed more healing than I'd anticipated. For want of a better word, there were… cracks. I guess you might say I needed to glue you back together." An almost smile. "And I did. With my own grace."

The angel's hand slowly slid from his shoulder to his upper arm, molding to the hand-print burnt into his skin.

A burst of light, bright enough to make his eyes water, flickered somewhere in front of him. Dean's torso jerked outward in a convulsion like he'd been struck by an electric current, arching violently and seizing as the air filled with static. It was sharp, a painful throbbing and burning all over - from his scalp to his toes and back again.

The air was punched from his lungs with a strangled sound. Dean stumbled forward, chest bumping Castiel's and his hands flew out to steady himself against the angel's arms.

It must have only lasted a few seconds, but Dean was panting when it was over, and found his head dangerously close to burying itself against the angel's neck. He hadn't even been aware of slumping forward. Jerking up, he dropped his hands from where they were clenched in the angel's overcoat. Dean was too overwhelmed to even be affronted at the childlike way he'd been clinging. The world spun as he struggled to regain his balance.

When he looked up, Castiel's expression was close to blank again.

Castiel had confessed to lying, told him he was mainlining angel dust, all but electrocuted him, and then stood there calmly like an office worker waiting for a bus.

He'd laugh if he weren't so close to falling over.

"Is that why… when you…" Dean trailed off, uncertain and still reeling.

"Yes," Castiel replied simply.

Castiel glanced to where his hand remained pressed against the scar through Dean's shirt and tightened his fingers around the raised flesh.

"The things you feel, Dean, don't fear them. They are a part of me. Inside you. Strange, yes. Uncomfortable, most likely, but not harmful. I wont let that happen. You have my word."

"You know, it's kinda hard to trust a guy that rescued you from Hell then threatened to throw you back," he managed, still somewhat breathless.

The angel dropped his arm and turned away, retreating a step. Dean swayed a little on his feet, suddenly cold without Castiel's hand against him.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said quietly. "That was… a mistake. And in truth, I could no more return you to Perdition than I could change the axis of the earth. Physically, it's impossible for me. I may be an angel, Dean, but I'm not unlimited. Personally," Castiel turned again to face him. His expression was pained. "I wouldn't, even if I could."

He took another step forward, returning to stand just inches in front of Dean. "I threatened you, and for that I owe you an apology. I was impatient and frustrated and… I'm sure you're aware just how stubborn you can be, Dean." A touch of amusement settled in Castiel's eyes. He was hard to read, but Dean was learning. It was difficult not to notice someone's every move and expression, albeit subtle, when their concept of personal space was virtually nonexistent.

But Castiel had never actually invaded that space, Dean realized. He just… fit there. And after what he'd just learned, well, maybe he had a right to. Any other person, creature or otherwise that got so close to Dean would have already received a well placed punch, but again, Castiel was different. It would be amusing were it not for the sharp currents of electricity still vibrating through him. His knees still felt weak.

Dean tried to smile but it came out more like a grimace. "It's been said."

Castiel angled his head ever so slightly and leaned even closer. Dean could just barely feel the angel's warm breath. Between the aftershocks running through his body, and the profound, unblinking scrutiny, Dean felt intoxicated. For a moment he couldn't feel his feet. He couldn't see anything but the face in front of him. It felt like some sort of drug was working it's way through his system, slow and heavy.

Castiel continued to move forward slowly, and for a ridiculous second Dean thought the angel was going to kiss him. But just as he registered the hot breath skating over his mouth, Castiel lifted his chin. Dean felt warm, dry lips press against his forehead, between his eyebrows. They lingered for a long moment before pulling away.

For the second time that night, Dean found himself without words. Frozen. He found himself searching for a response, and coming up empty. Never had he felt such a strong need to say the right thing, something the moment deserved.

But nothing came.

So he stood there and said nothing. He guessed the only thing Castiel wanted to hear was probably showing on his face anyway. It seemed the angel only had to look at Dean to see everything he needed to. He'd proved that only minutes after bursting into that barn and reading Dean like an open book.

There was no expectation in the angel's eyes when Dean finally focused on them again. Just acceptance, and if he wasn't mistaken, a touch of sadness.

In the space between blinks, Castiel was gone and Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He looked down and saw two clear shoe prints nudging up against his boots, impressed into the dusty soil.

It occurred to him that without Castiel, he wouldn't even be standing this side of the dirt at all. He'd still be under it.

He didn't deserve to be walking the earth right now, but he was. He _was_ walking around. Alive. Breathing. Life was shit, it was dirty and painful and crazy and most of the time it wouldn't be worth the trouble, were it not for Sam. But at least he wasn't in the pit. That had to count for something, however small.

Castiel was still a dick, a bossy pigeon with daddy issues and a stick up his ass - but he was different somehow. Maybe it was the connection, the angel juice or whatever it might be. In any case - and against his better judgement - Dean suspected he might end up liking the guy. Stranger things had happened.

Given enough time, he might even be able to say thank you.

~end

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><p>Author Notes 2: Part of the dialogue is inspired by the quote - "Some things have to be believed to be seen" by Ralph Hodgson, which I absolutely adore.<p>

The title comes from the verse - "Thorns and stings, And those such things, Just make stronger, Our angel wings." by Terri Guillemets, which is a cliché little thing, but I do love the wording. Yeah, okay, I might have a slight obsession with quotes…


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